JILLwasasleep.Eversincetheowls’parliamentbeganshehadbeenyawningterriblyandnowshehaddroppedoff.Shewasnotatallpleasedatbeingwakedagain,andatfindingherselflyingonbareboardsinadustybelfrysortofplace,completelydark,andalmostcompletelyfullofowls.Shewasevenlesspleasedwhensheheardthattheyhadtosetoffforsomewhereelse—andnot,apparently,forbed—ontheOwl’sback.
“Oh,comeon,Pole,buckup,”saidScrubb’svoice.“Afterall,itisanadventure.”
“I’msickofadventures,”saidJillcrossly.
Shedid,however,consenttoclimbontoGlimfeather’sback,andwasthoroughlywakedup(forawhile)bytheunexpectedcoldnessoftheairwhenheflewoutwithherintothenight.Themoonhaddisappearedandtherewerenostars.Farbehindhershecouldseeasinglelightedwindowwellabovetheground;doubtless,inoneofthetowersofCairParavel.Itmadeherlongtobebackinthatdelightfulbedroom,snuginbed,watchingthefirelightonthewalls.Sheputherhandsunderhercloakandwrappedittightlyroundher.Itwasuncannytoheartwovoicesinthedarkairalittledistanceaway;Scrubbandhisowlweretalkingtooneanother.“Hedoesn’tsoundtired,”thoughtJill.ShedidnotrealizethathehadbeenongreatadventuresinthatworldbeforeandthattheNarnianairwasbringingbacktohimastrengthhehadwonwhenhesailedtheEasternSeaswithKingCaspian.
Jillhadtopinchherselftokeepawake,forsheknewthatifshedozedonGlimfeather’sbackshewouldprobablyfalloff.Whenatlastthetwoowlsendedtheirflight,sheclimbedstifflyoffGlimfeatherandfoundherselfonflatground.Achillywindwasblowingandtheyappearedtobeinaplacewithouttrees.“Tu-whoo,tu-whoo!”Glimfeatherwascalling.“Wakeup,PuddlegluWakeup.ItisontheLion’sbusiness.”
Foralongtimetherewasnoreply.Then,alongwayoff,adimlightappearedandbegantocomenearer.Withitcameavoice.
“Owlsahoy!”itsaid.“Whatisit?IstheKingdead?HasanenemylandedinNarnia?Isitaflood?Ordragons?”
Whenthelightreachedthem,itturnedouttobethatofalargelantern.Shecouldseeverylittleofthepersonwhoheldit.Heseemedtobealllegsandarms.Theowlsweretalkingtohim,explainingeverything,butshewastootiredtolisten.Shetriedtowakeherselfupabitwhensherealizedthattheyweresayinggoodbyetoher.Butshecouldneverafterwardsremembermuchexceptthat,soonerorlater,sheandScrubbwerestoopingtoenteralowdoorwayandthen(oh,thankheavens)werelyingdownonsomethingsoftandwarm,andavoicewassaying:
“Thereyouare.Bestwecando.You’llliecoldandhard.Damptoo,Ishouldn’twonder.Won’tsleepawink,mostlikely;evenifthereisn’tathunderstormorafloodorthewigwamdoesn’tfalldownontopofusall,asI’veknownthemtodo.Mustmakethebestofit—”Butshewasfastasleepbeforethevoicehadended.
Whenthechildrenwokelatenextmorningtheyfoundthattheywerelying,verydryandwarm,onbedsofstrawinadarkplace.Atriangularopeningletinthedaylight.
“Whereoneartharewe?”askedJill.
“InthewigwamofaMarsh-wiggle,”saidEustace.
“Awhat?”
“AMarsh-wiggle.Don’taskmewhatitis.Icouldn’tseeitlastnight.I’mgettingup.Let’sgoandlookforit.”
“Howbeastlyonefeelsaftersleepinginone’sclothes,”saidJill,sittingup.
“Iwasjustthinkinghowniceitwasnottohavetodress,”saidEustace.
“Orwasheither,Isuppose,”saidJillscornfully.ButScrubbhadalreadygotup,yawned,shakenhimself,andcrawledoutofthewigwaJilldidthesame.
WhattheyfoundoutsidewasquiteunlikethebitofNarniatheyhadseenonthedaybefore.Theywereonagreatflatplainwhichwascutintocountlesslittleislandsbycountlesschannelsofwater.Theislandswerecoveredwithcoarsegrassandborderedwithreedsandrushes.Sometimestherewerebedsofrushesaboutanacreinextent.Cloudsofbirdswereconstantlyalightinginthemandrisingfromthemagain—duck,snipe,bitterns,herons.Manywigwamslikethatinwhichtheyhadpassedthenightcouldbeseendottedabout,butallatagooddistancefromoneanother;forMarsh-wigglesarepeoplewholikeprivacy.Exceptforthefringeoftheforestseveralmilestothesouthandwestofthem,therewasnotatreeinsight.Eastwardtheflatmarshstretchedtolowsand-hillsonthehorizon,andyoucouldtellbythesalttanginthewindwhichblewfromthatdirectionthatthesealayoverthere.TotheNorththerewerelowpale-colouredhills,inplacesbastionedwithrock.Therestwasallflatmarsh.Itwouldhavebeenadepressingplaceonawetevening.Seenunderamorningsun,withafreshwindblowing,andtheairfilledwiththecryingofbirds,therewassomethingfineandfreshandcleanaboutitsloneliness.Thechildrenfelttheirspiritsrise.
“Wherehasthethingummygotto,Iwonder?”saidJill.
“TheMarsh-wiggle,”saidScrubb,asifhewereratherproudofknowingtheword.“Iexpect—hullo,thatmustbehi”Andthentheybothsawhim,sittingwithhisbacktothem,fishing,aboutfiftyyardsaway.Hehadbeenhardtoseeatfirstbecausehewasnearlythesamecolourasthemarshandbecausehesatsostill.
“Isupposewe’dbettergoandspeaktohim,”saidJill.Scrubbnodded.Theybothfeltalittlenervous.
Astheydrewnearer,thefigureturneditsheadandshowedthemalongthinfacewithrathersunkencheeks,atightlyshutmouth,asharpnose,andnobeard.Hewaswearingahigh,pointedhatlikeasteeple,withanenormouslywideflatbriThehair,ifitcouldbecalledhair,whichhungoverhislargeearswasgreeny-grey,andeachlockwasflatratherthanround,sothattheywereliketinyreeds.Hisexpressionwassolemn,hiscomplexionmuddy,andyoucouldseeatoncethathetookaseriousviewoflife.
“Goodmorning,Guests,”hesaid.“ThoughwhenIsaygoodIdon’tmeanitwon’tprobablyturntorainoritmighthesnow,orfog,orthunder.Youdidn’tgetanysleep,Idaresay.
“Yeswedid,though,”saidJill.“Wehadalovelynight.”
“Ah,”saidtheMarsh-wiggle,shakinghishead.“Iseeyou’remakingthebestofabadjob.That’sright.You’vebeenwellbroughtup,youhave.You’velearnedtoputagoodfaceonthings.”
“Please,wedon’tknowyourname,”saidScrubb.
“Puddleglum’smyname.Butitdoesn’tmatterifyouforgetit.Icanalwaystellyouagain.”
ThechildrensatdownoneachsideofhiTheynowsawthathehadverylonglegsandarms,sothatalthoughhisbodywasnotmuchbiggerthanadwarf’s,hewouldbetallerthanmostmenwhenhestoodup.Thefingersofhishandswerewebbedlikeafrog’s,andsowerehisbarefeetwhichdangledinthemuddywater.Hewasdressedinearthcolouredclothesthathunglooseabouthi
“I’mtryingtocatchafeweelstomakeaneelstewforourdinner,”saidPuddleglu“ThoughIshouldn’twonderifIdidn’tgetany.Andyouwon’tlikethemmuchifIdo.”
“Whynot?”askedScrubb.
“Why,it’snotinreasonthatyoushouldlikeoursortofvictuals,thoughI’venodoubtyou’llputaboldfaceonit.Allthesame,whileIamacatchingofthem,ifyoutwocouldtrytolightthefire—noharmtrying—!Thewood’sbehindthewigwaItmaybewet.Youcouldlightitinsidethewigwam,andthenwe’dgetallthesmokeinoureyes.Oryoucouldlightitoutside,andthentherainwouldcomeandputitout.Here’smytinder-box.Youwouldn’tknowhowtouseit,Iexpect.”
ButScrubbhadlearnedthatsortofthingonhislastadventure.Thechildrenranbacktogethertothewigwam,foundthewood(whichwasperfectlydry)andsucceededinlightingafirewithratherlessthantheusualdifficulty.ThenScrubbsatandtookcareofitwhileJillwentandhadsomesortofwash—notaveryniceone—inthenearestchannel.Afterthatshesawtothefireandhehadawash.Bothfeltagooddealfresher,butveryhungry.
PresentlytheMarsh-wigglejoinedtheInspiteofhisexpectationofcatchingnoeels,hehadadozenorso,whichhehadalreadyskinnedandcleaned.Heputabigpoton,mendedthefire,andlithispipe.Marsh-wigglessmokeaverystrange,heavysortoftobacco(somepeoplesaytheymixitwithmud)andthechildrennoticedthesmokefromPuddleglum’spipehardlyroseintheairatall.Ittrickledoutofthebowlanddownwardsanddriftedalongthegroundlikeamist.ItwasveryblackandsetScrubbcoughing.
“Now,”saidPuddleglu“Thoseeelswilltakeamortallongtimetocook,andeitherofyoumightfaintwithhungerbeforethey’redone.Iknewalittlegirl-butI’dbetternottellyouthatstory.Itmightloweryourspirits,andthat’sathingIneverdo.So,tokeepyourmindsoffyourhunger,wemayaswelltalkaboutourplans.”
“Yes,dolet’s,”saidJill.“CanyouhelpustofindPrinceRilian?”
TheMarsh-wigglesuckedinhischeekstilltheywerehollowerthanyouwouldhavethoughtpossible.“Well,Idon’tknowthatyou’dcallithelp,”hesaid.“Idon’tknowthatanyonecanexactlyhelp.Itstandstoreasonwe’renotlikelytogetveryfaronajourneytotheNorth,notatthistimeoftheyear,withthewintercomingonsoonandall.Andanearlywintertoo,bythelookofthings.Butyoumustn’tletthatmakeyoudown-hearted.Verylikely,whatwithenemies,andmountains,andriverstocross,andlosingourway,andnexttonothingtoeat,andsorefeet,we’llhardlynoticetheweather.Andifwedon’tgetfarenoughtodoanygood,wemaygetfarenoughnottogetbackinahurry.”
Bothchildrennoticedthathesaid“we”,not“you”,andbothexclaimedatthesamemoment.“Areyoucomingwithus?”
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